A Christmas Wish
by r4ven3
Summary: A Harry-centric Christmas one-shot, where his daughter visits him and with her prompting, he is able to articulate his wishes for the Christmas season. (It covers several different genres, so I've left that out.)


A London hotel

Saturday Dec 22nd 2007 – 10.22 pm:

A glance at his phone tells Harry that he has slept for only fifteen minutes, He stretches his body, loose and relaxed, while beside him his bed companion stirs and then turns her blue eyes to him, smiling with smug satisfaction. She reaches out her hand and fondly caresses his cheek.

"I'm glad we did that," she says huskily.

"Me too," he replies.

It had been years since Harry had seen her. Helen Stanley had once worked as an operations manager in Section B. Back then she'd been happily partnered, and he had barely noticed her. They'd run into one another in the hotel's bar where, over several whiskys she had shared with him the sad story of having been dumped by her partner for a much younger model – a 29 year old, almost 30 years his junior. After around three or four drinks each, and some playful flirting, she'd suggested they continue their conversation in her hotel room, and he'd thought `why not?' The Christmas season could be a lonely time for Harry, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been with a woman - certainly not since he'd acknowledged to himself his feelings for Ruth. That made it roughly a three year drought, which was a very, very long time. During the time Ruth had worked at Section D, and especially once he'd acknowledged his powerful attraction to her, casual liaisons had lost their shine, and he remained forever hopeful that he and Ruth would grow close enough to spend more than their working hours together.

Thoughts of Ruth, however brief, bring to the surface that nagging voice – the one which pops up when he does anything he knows would meet with her disapproval. Mostly that voice speaks to him about some decision he'd made at work. There had been times when he'd cut corners, and hoped the outcome would redeem his decision. This was the only time since Ruth had left that he had given in to the baser needs of his body – the call of soft curves, the scent of a perfume which resembled the one Ruth had worn, and most of all the nagging hard on. He had found it difficult to step away from that kind of temptation, especially when he could see no reason at all to not give in to the need.

He silences that voice by leaning across to kiss Helen. With work tomorrow, he really ought to go home, but a brief snog won't hurt. It's Christmas after all.

Harry's house – London:

Monday Dec 24th 2007 – 7.41 pm:

Harry stands in his hallway, holding the package between his hands. According to a sticker in the top left hand corner, it had been delivered by courier from the post office. It had been stuffed through his letterbox, so that he almost stepped on it as he'd headed towards his security keypad to type in the code. His name and address has been typed onto a sticker, and a quick glance over both sides of the package gives no clue to the identity of the sender. People do not send him gifts, and rather than open it then, he carries it with him to the kitchen, and leaves it on the end of the table.

Just as he was about to leave work Catherine had rung him, suggesting she visit him that evening.

"Graham was going to come with me, but he rang me this morning claiming he had to work. I suggested he ring you some time -"

"He rang me …... today ….. early this afternoon. We had a …... rather useful conversation."

"More than five minutes, I hope."

"We talked for over half an hour."

"Dad – that's great …... isn't it?"

"Yes …... it was a very promising interaction. We agreed to meet for a meal early in the new year."

At the other end of the phone, Catherine Townsend's lips curve in a small smile at the words, `promising interaction'. Only her father would use such language when referring to a conversation with her brother. That is one phrase she will not be sharing with Graham.

Harry had suggested she arrive between 7.30 and 8, so he is cutting it fine. There is very little proper food in the house, but plenty to drink. He is planning to have a liquid breakfast, lunch and dinner on Christmas Day, accompanied by slices of buttered toast to absorb the alcohol. He'll be alone, so how he spends the day is his business.

In the kitchen he fills the kettle and sets it to boil, gathering the rest of the tea-making paraphernalia, as well as two mugs and spoons. He has some fresh biscuits, so he puts a few on a plate, which he places on the table. When the doorbell rings, he hurries down the hallway, having already forgotten about the small package still sitting on the end of the kitchen table.

"No Fabian?" Harry asks her, once they are sitting at the table, mugs of hot tea in front of them. Harry had hugged her, and even kissed her forehead, cold from the air outside. He hadn't done that in a very long time, perhaps not since she'd been in primary school.

"He left this morning. He's needed to ensure the cease fire isn't broken. The media presence will ensure that if even one stray shot is fired, the world will know."

"So …... shouldn't you be back there?"

"Probably, but if I miss another Christmas in England, Mum is threatening to disown me."

"We can't have that," Harry says softly.

"So I'm staying until after New Year. I have something for you." Catherine lifts her bag from where she'd left it beside her chair, and reaches in to remove an envelope. She passes the envelope across the table to Harry, smiling shyly as she does so. "I hope you like this."

Noticing the logo of the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden on the outside of the envelope, Harry smiles widely. He opens it to see a ticket inside. "Just the one ticket?"

"I have the other ticket. I thought we could go together. It's for _Nabucco_. I hope you like it."

"Verdi," Harry murmurs. "What's not to like?"

"That's the one with the _Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves_."

"Yes. I know."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Catherine, I love it. I'll look forward to it, but I'd be happier if you'd let me pay for my own ticket."

"Then it would no longer be my gift to you."

Harry can see her point, but his guilt about accepting Catherine's generous gift makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable.

"I hope you don't mind me being your date, Dad. It's not like you have a woman to take …... or do you?"

"No, I don't," he replies quickly. Helen had left him her mobile number, but he'd not given his number to her. He doubted they'd see one another again. For him it had been nothing more than a Christmas comfort shag. "Thank you, Catherine. It's a very thoughtful – and expensive – gift."

"It's for the 30th. You'll be free?"

"Yes. I'll be free."

There is an awkward silence during which each remember the conversation they'd had only a year earlier, a few short months after Ruth had gone into exile. Catherine had – again – asked him did he have anyone with whom he could spend Christmas. Harry had blustered about not having the time for that sort of thing, but Catherine had read something more in his voice – some level of emotion which he'd been trying hard to suppress.

"What's wrong, Dad?" she had said, her compassion clear in the softness of her voice.

So Harry had told her about his history with Ruth – her brilliance, her blue eyes, their one date, her refusing to go out with him again, and then her tragic leaving of London. Catherine had listened while he'd recounted the whole sorry tale. When he could say no more, he'd looked down at the glass of whisky he held between his fingers, feeling the emotion surging in his gut. Suddenly, his daughter had got up from her chair and covered the couple of yards between them. She'd sat on the arm of his chair, putting her arms around his shoulders and holding him in a tight embrace until he again felt calm. That small gesture of love had meant more to him than he could ever express in words.

Harry had got up to replenish their mugs of tea when Catherine spoke.

"Who do you know in Greece?" she asked.

"No-one. Why?"

"You have a parcel from Greece. Someone loves you, Dad."

"Or has sent me a parcel bomb," he quips, turning with a mug of hot tea in each hand, but barely able to contain his excitement. Greece! Could it be? It had to be. There is no-one else.

"You haven't opened it. Why?"

"I'd only just arrived home when you rang the doorbell."

"Open it. It might be from a secret admirer." Catherine had the padded bag in her hands, and she pushed it across the table until it was in front of Harry. "Go on. I'm dying to see what it is ….. and who it's from."

Harry picks it up, and turns it over, seeing for the first time the Greek post mark. He can almost hear his heart beating against his ribs, as he tears open the envelope. Inside it, in a clear hard plastic sleeve, is a DVD and a hand written note. In Ruth's distinctive hand writing Harry reads the words: _Put this in your computer and play. Merry Christmas, Harry. R xx_

He very carefully places the DVD on the table, and passes the note across the table for Catherine to read. He is incapable of forming any words at all, let alone a sequence of words which make sense. Catherine picks up the note, her eyes on her father. She quickly reads it, understanding his reaction.

"R is for Ruth …... isn't it? She even put two kisses at the end."

Harry smiles into her eyes. Trust Catherine to notice that. "Yes. She put two kisses after her initial."

"Well …... are you going to sit here all night wondering? Were I in your shoes, I'd be half way to my office by now."

Doing as she suggests, Harry grabs the DVD, and as he is about to leave the kitchen, he stops in the doorway, and turns to Catherine. "Thank you for being here, and ….."

"Go, Dad," she says, making a shooing motion with her hands. "If you're not down in half an hour, I'll come looking for you."

* * *

><p>It is forty minutes later when Catherine climbs the stairs, and stands in the doorway to her father's office, watching him staring at the images on his laptop's monitor. She hadn't been quiet, but Harry appears oblivious to her presence. He sits in the chair, his eyes never leaving the moving images on the monitor.<p>

"You can come closer," Harry says, not even looking at her. _How does he do that?_ "I'd like you to see this."

Catherine enters the small room, and sits next to her father in the chair he indicates by pulling it away from in front of the desktop PC. On the laptop's screen she sees the images which have Harry so enthralled. There are scenes of ancient ruins, Mediterranean beaches, villas, busy city streets, and several of the same small villa with a dark green doorway. Interspersed with the scenes of the landscape, the cities, and the crowds of people are still images of a woman with dark brown hair, and striking blue eyes. In some she is staring at the camera, while in others she is looking away. In some it is clear she is taking a selfie with a phone camera, while in others she is in a group of people. Only in a very few is she smiling. This must be Ruth, the woman who holds her father's heart.

"She's lovely, Dad," Catherine says quietly.

"Yes. She is."

Catherine doesn't ask how many times Harry has watched the collation all the way through, but she sits quietly while she watches it twice. "Is there anything else?" she asks.

"Yes. There's a file of her speaking to camera ….. to me. She says she ….. misses me. She's given me a phone number on which I can contact her." His eyes remain on the screen while he speaks.

"Have you spoken to her yet?"

For the first time since she'd entered the office, Harry turns to look at Catherine. "I will ….. a bit later. I have to work up the nerve."

"If you're waiting for me to leave, then I'll leave. Just say so."

"No. Please don't go yet. I'm still a bit ….. unnerved by this. I might leave talking to her until tomorrow."

"You bloody well will not. Just imagine if Ruth is sitting with her phone in her hand, waiting for your call. Ring her, Dad. Just do it." Catherine gets to her feet, and replaces her chair at the desk. "I'll be downstairs, and you can come and tell me all about it after you've spoken to her."

"Can you stay the night?" Harry asks, his eyes pleading.

Catherine is surprised by the sudden change in her father – from distant and controlled, to emotionally vulnerable. "If that's what you want. I'll check that the bed in the spare room is made up." She then promptly leaves the office, closing the door behind her. Harry doesn't need her hovering in the background.

Once Catherine has left the room, Harry picks up his mobile phone and rings the number he has already entered into his list of contacts. As he waits for the call to be answered, he is aware his hands are trembling. After the seventh ring he is about to hang up, when the call is answered. With just one word, "Hello", his whole world turns on its axis.

"Ruth …... it's me, Harry."

"Hello you, Harry," she says, and he can hear the laughter in her voice. He feels his body relax into the chair, and a smile softens his mouth.

"Ruth …..."

"Yes?"

"It is so good to be able to talk to you."

"I was afraid you wouldn't ring me."

"Why would I not want to ring you?"

"There are potentially a dozen reasons – Marcia, Jennifer, Giselle, Pauline, Anne -"

"Who are these women, Ruth?"

"Women whom I imagine you to be with …... celebrating Christmas with."

Harry chuckles quietly into the phone. "I am celebrating Christmas Eve with a woman -" and hearing Ruth's intake of breath, he hurries on "- and this woman is my daughter, Catherine. We're sharing a pot of tea." Harry is sure he hears Ruth breathe out in relief. "And you, Ruth …... are you spending Christmas Eve with anyone?"

"I'm spending it with you, Harry. This is my best Christmas in a long time."

"Me too."

Harry's smile is now very wide, and he feels like laughing aloud.

* * *

><p>By the time Harry appears downstairs a little over an hour has passed. Catherine notices he has showered and changed into jeans, thick jumper and slippers, but best of all, he wears a smile and appears relaxed.<p>

"Where did this come from?" he asks, indicating the containers of the Indian takeaway spread over the centre of the table.

"If you can't look after yourself, someone has to."

"At least let me pay for it," he adds.

"It's alright, Dad. Mum gave me a ridiculous amount of money for Christmas. As I see it I can spend it in whatever way I wish."

"So in a roundabout way, your mother is funding our night at the opera."

"Yes, but I'll not be telling her that."

They begin eating, and sipping the white wine Catherine had found in Harry's overhead cupboard, where she knew he stored his booze. She keeps looking up at her father to ensure that he really _does_ seem relaxed and contented. Eventually curiosity gets the better of her.

"So, Dad …... how was Ruth?"

Harry takes so long to answer that she thinks he may not have heard her. Eventually he puts down his fork, takes a mouthful of wine, and then sits back in his chair.

"She's as wonderful as ever," he says.

"And?"

"And what? The rest of the conversation is private."

"I understand that. Does she …..."

"What?"

"Does she still love you?"

Harry hesitates, deciding on an appropriate reply. "Catherine, being of a different generation, Ruth and I don't talk like that to one another, but …... if I had to hazard a guess I'd say she does ….. yes."

"That's good."

"It is."

Catherine waits for more, but Harry goes back to his mango chicken. It's not until he's eaten the last mouthful that he again speaks.

"Ruth and I have agreed that where possible, we will speak to one another most evenings, after I return home from work, and in the new year, I will set in motion her return to the UK."

"Dad, that's wonderful, but …... what about the people who were after your head …... won't Ruth still be in danger?"

"Not with the information she has uncovered." Harry looks up and smiles at his daughter. "Have I told you that there is no information anywhere in the world which is safe from Ruth's scrutiny?"

"Surely that's an exaggeration."

"Maybe, but it's only a mild one. I now have something to look forward to, Catherine." When he sees Catherine's face drop, he quickly continues. "Something personal is what I mean. You and your brother have your own hopes and dreams, and I only exist on the periphery of your lives, but with Ruth coming home – whenever that will be – I now have something to look forward to ….. something personal ... for myself."

Catherine lifts her glass, and raises it in a toast. "To our hopes and dreams, Dad. May we each be granted what we long for – a Christmas wish."

Harry mirrors her action. "To love," he says, "and may Ruth come home soon, followed closely by world peace."

"Surely that's not a lot to ask," Catherine says quietly, before she takes a small sip of wine.

"That is only the beginning, Catie. Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"Merry Christmas, Dad."

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>AN: The choice of `Nabucco' as the opera Catherine takes Harry to is deliberate, and (may) provide a lead in to Harry's choice of music when he is at home waiting to be arrested in 7.7**_


End file.
